


Might and Magic

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: vaguely Star Wars inspired AU but with none of Star Wars in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:54:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: "Who the fuck are you?" Michael calls. The man laughs and starts walking towards him, fighting the ankle-deep sand with each step. Michael is so surprised he doesn't know how else to respond."I'm Gavin," the guy pants when he's pulled up to Michael, offering a hand. Michael shakes it warily. "That was bloody amazing, mate, that fight.""What are you - Why are you out here?" Michael asks, because no one trudges out to the middle of the Ruuksah for a fucking - midday stroll. "You lost?""Could ask you the same thing," Gavin says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His scarf is tucked messily around his head and over his face, his satchel is a small, threadbare thing by his hip, and his only weapon, by the looks of it, is a dagger strapped to his thigh. Moron."That's none of your business," Michael replies gruffly, sheathing the saber on his hip. He turns to continue his path - and hopefully leave Gavin behind."You might need me," Gavin calls. "For that treasure you're looking for."
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

"Hey, hey - _hey_!" Sand kicks up in Michael's face, making him splutter and stumble back as he thrusts his saber up, blocking the blow and twisting with a grunt to deflect it. The Ruuk tries again, slashing with a fearsome roar - Michael dodges to the side and flips the saber in his hand, presses the button to activate the blade. 

His enemy whirls on him again, hacking and snarling with the force of a thousand souls, like death incarnate, rotting teeth and rotting skull and rotten bones and rotten breath. Michael darts away again, not as quick as he'd like to be on the sand, but quick enough. Almost. The Ruuk do not seem to adhere to the rules of sand and gravity, and each bout of sand that flies up into Michael's face only costs him time. 

He needs to end this. Quick. 

The next blow is met with a parry, their blades hitting with a _zwing_, purple against black. Michael pushes with a yell, takes the split-second to kick the Ruuk in the chest and send him backwards a couple steps. With a growl, the Ruuk raises his arms again - 

Michael sidesteps neatly, his blade zipping through the sand, and thrusts into the Ruuk's side, grunting as he pushes in, all the way to the hilt. The Ruuk perishes with a raspy shout, and when Michael lifts his blade, only a black, tattered cloak flutters to the ground. 

The desert settles around him. He deactivates the saber. 

"That was pretty cool, man." 

Michael's head whips up towards the sound of a voice. It's - another human? 

"Who the fuck are you?" Michael calls. The man laughs and starts walking towards him, fighting the ankle-deep sand with each step. Michael is so surprised he doesn't know how else to respond. 

"I'm Gavin," the guy pants when he's pulled up to Michael, offering a hand. Michael shakes it warily. "That was bloody amazing, mate, that fight." 

"What are you - _Why_ are you out here?" Michael asks, because no one trudges out to the middle of the Ruuksah for a fucking - midday stroll. "You lost?" 

"Could ask you the same thing," Gavin says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His scarf is tucked messily around his head and over his face, his satchel is a small, threadbare thing by his hip, and his only weapon, by the looks of it, is a dagger strapped to his thigh. Moron. 

"That's none of your business," Michael replies gruffly, sheathing the saber on his hip. He turns to continue his path - and hopefully leave Gavin behind. 

"You might need me," Gavin calls. "For that treasure you're looking for." 

Michael pauses. 

"What treasure?" He lies, turning around again. 

"Pfft, you can't lie to me, Mu - " 

"Michael," Michael says sharply. "It's Michael." 

Gavin grins - knowing, but friendly. 

"Michael," he says, testing the name in his mouth. He nods. "I like it." 

"Fantastic," Michael snarks, but he doesn't move otherwise. They stare at each other for another moment, Gavin smirking, Michael already knowing he's giving in. 

"Okay, then, _why_ will I need you?" 

"To read your damn map, of course," Gavin says. He's right, as he seems to be about a lot of things. 

"I can read a map," Michael says anyway. 

"Not that one, you can't," Gavin replies. "Not after we get underground." 

There's an _underground_?! 

"How the fuck did you know about that?" Michael demands. Gavin happily starts walking towards him, casual as can be. He knows he's won this fight. 

Unfortunately, so does Michael, so he starts walking, too, once Gavin's caught up. 

"Same way I know it's about to storm," Gavin says. Michael looks up at the clear blue sky. Back at Gavin. 

Gavin winks, waggles his fingers at Michael. Little crackles of red lightning jump between his fingertips. 

"Magic," he says. 

\-- 

"So, how does it feel being the only one?" Gavin asks cheerily, about an hour later, kicking up sand in front of him with every step. 

"Only one what?" 

"Goin' after this treasure. No one really tries anymore." 

"Then it's gotta be worth a lot," Michael replies. "Anyway, what else am I gonna do? Fuck around salvage yards? Nah man, if I find this treasure, I make _bank_." 

"Money?" Gavin frowns, red lightning popping over his knuckles. "What about the magic an' all?" 

Michael scoffs. He's heard all about the supposed lost dark magic of Ruuksah - the tales and legends handed down through myth and text. Supposedly, there's a great old Ruuk palace buried underneath the sand, _supposedly_ with a treasure chest locked in the bloody throne room, a chest that contains the true sources of the dark magicks. 

"It's all bullshit." 

Gavin laughs. Michael shrugs. He knows that the magic faded decades ago, if not centuries. When it was a different land, a different _planet_, when light and dark were potent, terrifying forces, wielded by the Masters. 

The light won, as it should, and through the ages afterward, magic slowly trickled out of their blood, their bones, and only left residual sparks in every other person - like Gavin, with his neat little lightning crackles. Michael wouldn't be surprised if he had a few other parlour tricks up his sleeves. 

"No magic for you, then?" Gavin asks, playfully poking Michael's shoulder. 

"Never had any," Michael answers, nudging him back. 

"So what d'you reckon you'll find?" 

"Dunno. Gold, probably. Gems." 

Gavin nods and lets the gentle rasp of the wind whittle between them. Michael glances down at the map clutched tightly in his left hand, the gold markings shining almost too brightly against the black paper. 

Almost there. Hopefully. Unless there's that _underground_ Gavin mentioned earlier. 

\-- 

"It's just a fucking desert." 

Michael looks all around, in every direction, turning around in one spot, the intersection of the X on his map, and there's just sand. Sand until the horizon. 

There's no evidence of any buried palace, either, but Michael wasn't expecting any. Many have tried to use the legends for their own personal gain, and Michael's no different. Hell, he got the map off a wandering trader who was half out of his mind with desert thirst. 

But he's never seen a map of where _exactly_ to go before, _and _with the coordinates in the corner? Someone must've hidden _something_ here, enough to make a course to it. Probably pirates. Either way, Michael's determined to find whatever's hidden here, but it won't be dark magic, that he knows for certain. 

"Did you bring a shovel?" Gavin asks. Michael scowls. 

"No." 

"You went looking for treasure, with a map, and didn't bring a bloody shovel?!" 

"I don't own one!" 

Gavin sighs, long-suffering, and reaches into his weary satchel, fluttering empty by his side. 

"Good thing you got me then," he says, and shoves half of his arm into the bag - a bag that is not, and could never be, big enough to hold a sand melon, let alone half of Gavin's arm. Effortlessly, Gavin starts to pull something _out_ of the bag, and a wooden handle appears - and appears, and _appears_, Gavin's hands leapfrogging over each other to pull out a shovel. 

He presents it to Michael, who takes it with a dumbfounded _huh_, and just as easily pulls out a second one, planting it on the ground between his feet. 

"All right then, where's the middle?" He asks, peering over at Michael's map. 

Michael blinks. Gavin grins. 

"Lookin' like a fish there," he comments. 

"How the _fuck_ did you do that!" 

"Ah, simple charm," Gavin answers, complete with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And I always keep some things on hand." 

"Like a _shovel_?!" 

"Well, you need it, don't you." 

"I hate you. Smug fuck." 

Gavin just laughs, playfully knocking his shoulder against Michael's. 

"C'mon, let's get digging, yeah?" He says. "Sun won't stay up forever." 


	2. Chapter 2

Michael really hates to, but does have to admit, the shovels are incredibly handy. 

And so is Gavin, because another one of his _simple charms_ is a bottomless water flask, and a seemingly endless amount of dried jerky and bread in that unassuming satchel. 

Although by the time the sun starts setting, they've found nothing. Michael's in a hole five people deep, and Gavin's digging beside him to help widen the hole. He's only about four people deep when they pause for breath and water. 

"Here," Michael says when Gavin caps the flask, reaching up for Gavin to pass it down to him. He takes greedy gulps of it, ignoring the sandy aftertaste in his own mouth. 

"Maybe it's deeper," Gavin says, crouching. 

"Or maybe it's bullshit," Michael gasps, parting from the flask long enough to wipe his mouth. He wouldn't be surprised, really - the map's likely changed hands countless times before it got to him; he was just betting on the odds of anyone willing to make this arduous trek on only a chance of fortune. 

Well, guess the joke's on him, because he sure made the trek. 

Michael offers the flask up again, shifting to face Gavin better - just as Gavin grabs the flask, the sand shifts under Michael, and he scrabbles to grab Gavin's arm as the earth shakes and he start sinking - he tries to climb out, but then Gavin yelps, and neither let go but they both try to claw at the sand as Gavin starts sinking, too, pulled down with Michael by a heavy, rough force, almost like the ground is s_wallowing_ them. 

Michael desperately wrings his fingers in Gavin's sleeve, grounded by the rough twist of fabric over his skin, and stops shouting enough to suck in a breath just as the sand filters over his face. 

It's dark. Very dark. 

But he's still _sinking_. There's no stopping point under his feet, nothing solid, and he can't hear anything, but his fingers are still on Gavin, and Gavin's hand is still gripping him, and Michael fights off the panic as best he can - but he can't breathe, and his heart rate is through the roof, and the pressure on his head is growing by the second and he _wants_ to struggle but he can't, he _can't_, the sand is too thick and suffocating, and it's really fucking fitting that his last moments were spent sitting in a hole in the middle of nowhere, huh. 

Gavin squeezes. Michael squeezes back, not entirely sure he's real anymore. 

Sand scratches at his ears, his nose, presses against his mouth, cold and damp, and Michael tries so very hard to kick again. 

It does nothing. 

Just as his head goes foggy, his feet hit air. _Air_. 

And he's not imagining it - he sinks and _falls_, frantically gasping in air as he flails, dragging Gavin down with him - 

And lands with a bodily _thud_ on dark stone. 

Stone? 

Gavin lands half on top of him, making them both wheeze, but for all that, Michael doesn't feel any serious injuries. He looks up, to the sand ceiling, and it's weirdly...still. As if levitating above whatever cavern they're in. 

"Where the hell are we?" Michael asks, standing up to brush himself off. A couple moments later, the shovels land next to them, almost startling Gavin into falling over again. Behind him, there's just a wall of sand. Gavin dusts himself and then pauses, looking wide-eyed over Michael's shoulder, frozen mid-dust. 

"I think...it's the palace," he says, and Michael turns around. 

Looming over them, and still under that strange sand ceiling, is dark, almost black, stone. A castle, tilted - Michael and Gavin are standing on the sloped wall of what would've been a turret, and the opposite, matching turret rises far above them, its spires threatening and ominous. The points around the edge the dome - on what would've been the roof - stab in their direction. Purple glows in the cracks of the stone. Just a few feet under them, the castle is submerged, once more, in sand, and only half of the dome is visible; the rest, lost to another wall of sand. 

"Fuck me," Michael says. It's eerily silent in the...well, cavern, he supposes is the best word for freaky floating sand ceiling above an underground but only half-sunken palace. 

"That's gotta be magic, right?" He asks. Gavin nods. 

"There's still some in it," he replies quietly, taking a few cautious steps forward. "That's why it's glowing." 

"No fuckin' way. I know how magic works, someone needs to be like..._doing_ it. There's no way someone else is down here as well." Michael follows slowly, avoiding the glowing cracks. 

Gavin, to Michael's surprise, shakes his head. 

"Not dark magic," he says. "Not _proper_ dark magic, that's why it's dark." 

"What...powers it, then?" Michael asks. 

"Bloodshed," Gavin responds, nodding at a large, dark stain under their feet. Michael scrambles to the side of it. 

"What?" 

"You need...other people's blood for it," Gavin explains. "And since blood stains, it's easy to...gather. Lasts for ages, unless you clean the blood away." 

"So like, you kill a guy, you can fly?" 

Gavin huffs a humourless chuckle. 

"Blood isn't that potent," he says instead. Michael, unfortunately, gets his meaning. 

"How much?" He asks. Gavin doesn't answer, his mouth twisted up. Michael stops in his tracks, looking around at the purple glow all around them. 

"Gavin, how many people would you need to kill to power all this?" 

Gavin pauses at the question. 

"Hundreds," he says, too quiet. Michael doesn't like him quiet. 

Gavin keeps walking, his haunting answer muting the air around them like a thick blanket. The closer they get to the dome, the more bloodstains Michael spots. 

His skin prickles at the thought. 

When they get to the dome, they stop. The glass panes are shattered, jagged edges sticking up at them as they peer in. 

"That's a long drop," Michael comments. "You got rope in that bag?" 

"You're going first," Gavin says, pulling out a coil of rope. 

"Fuck it, why not," Michael says - Gavin chuckles, and Michael's glad he's seemed to dispel Gavin's gloominess. Gavin ties the rope around one of the dome spikes while Michael fastens it around his waist, tentatively winding some around his knuckles as he walks to the edge. 

He can see the stone of the top floor, not too far down, but it's riddled with giant, gaping holes, and so is the floor below, and Michael can't actually _see_ the bottom. The only light is the faint, pulsing purple glow. 

Michael gulps. Unholsters his saber and activates it before sitting on the edge of the hole. 

"You ready?" Gavin asks, the rest of the rope coiled at his feet and in his hands. 

"Nope," Michael says, and carefully lowers himself down. 

"Don't fall!" Gavin calls, steadily giving him slack. 

Michael waves the lightsaber around to try and see better as he carefully dangles through the hole in the top floor, pushing himself away from sharp, jagged rock and down into the virtual abyss. It helps, having the weapon lit up in his hand, helps him feel at least a tiny bit safer, even if all it does is add more purple light to the castle's unnatural glow. 

The rope stops short between the next two floors, and Michael peers up to see Gavin shrugging over the edge. 

"What's it like?" He calls - his voice echoes off of the dark, cold stone. 

"Come down and find out!" Michael shouts. 

"Ah, for flip's sake - " Gavin mutters, and a moment later, he's carefully climbing down the rope. It strains, and Michael swings, and tries desperately not to think about the black hole a metre from under his feet. 

Gavin's quicker than he would've thought on the rope, expertly shimmying down slow enough to not break the rope, but quick enough that Michael isn't _too_ worried about it snapping - 

There's a crack above them. They both freeze. Gavin glances down and Michael looks up and with a much sharper _crack!_, they fall. Gavin's feet land _hard_ on Michael's chest and they tumble to the slanted floor, both of them scrabbling for purchase as half of the broken dome spike smashes down beside them, the knotted loop of rope still tight around it. 

Michael frantically grabs for Gavin to try and stop sliding but just ends up sliding them both towards the hole - with a twin scream, they tumble in, landing smack bang on their asses on the floor below. Michael's arm slams against a bump in the stone and sends the saber flying from his wrist, knocking down the closest hole while they both find footholds to stop and reorient themselves. Thankfully, this floor is a little more intact, except for the jagged hole to their right that the saber went down. 

Panting, Michael crawls over to peer down. And down. And _down_. 

"Aw, _fuck_." 


	3. Chapter 3

"This is totally your fault." 

"Is not! I didn't know it would break!" 

"Still. Fucking dumbass, climbing down while I was on it." 

"I thought it'd hold," Gavin says, a smile on his face. 

Michael grins to himself, holding out a hand to help Gavin jump down to the next broken floor. He likes the playful bickering, and Gavin's really starting to grow on him; it helps pass the time while they carefully climb down the rest of the tilted castle to retrieve Michael's saber. 

There's been a few close calls, yeah, where the floor creaks or dust crumbles down onto them from above, but they've made it so far, and with only a few nicks and scrapes. The strange, purple glow still emanates eerily from the cracks in the walls, and there's still a prickling on the back of Michael's neck whenever he squints at a dark corner for too long, but there's nothing else to do except descend, so descend they do. Gavin crackles lightning over his knuckles for the occasional few sparks of light, but he can't sustain an orb or any source of light for too long. All they have is the creepy purple wall and the bright stripe of purple saber a couple floors below. 

They drop to the last floor a few minutes later, both of them pausing to catch their breath as Michael scoops up his saber. 

The ground floor is...surprisingly intact. There's giant bolted double doors, presumably to what used to be the outside, and then smaller, doorless doorways, complete with crumbling rock and empty braziers. 

"Hey, Michael," Gavin murmurs, knocking Michael's shoulder with his own. "Do you want to uh, take a look at the map again?" 

"At the map? Why the fuck would I do that, we're _underground_." 

Gavin just jerks his chin to the wall over Michael's shoulder. Michael turns around. 

There's a door. A giant, floor-to-ceiling door, with a stronger purple glowing around the edges, almost like it's _inviting_ them. 

Michael takes out the map. 

The map, to his surprise, has changed - it still has the gold trail and X to mark the spot, but now, overlaid, is a faint purple trail, leading somewhere _else_. Somewhere - 

"Gavin, which way's north," Michael asks, turning in a circle. Gavin gently takes his shoulder and faces him north - another uncanny skill of his. 

Michael looks up. Looks down. Up. Down. 

Yep, leading right to that fucking door. 

"That's where your treasure is then, innit?" Gavin says, after a long silence. 

"No fucking way am I going in there," Michael protests. "I just wanna get _out_." 

They both look up at the broken floor above them. 

"It's either climbing or door," Gavin says. "And I don't know if we can break the sand or whatever up there. Dig up." 

"Stupid fucking map," Michael sighs, crumpling it up and stowing it once more. "All right then, you got any weapons in there? Don't know what sort of shit is behind it." 

Gavin Idiot Free unsheathes the dagger from his thigh. 

"This good?" He asks. Michael blinks. 

"I meant in the bag, moron." 

"Oh, no, don't have any in there," Gavin says, matter-of-factly. "Would be too dangerous." 

"Too - Too _dangerous_?!" 

"Well yeah, I could cut myself, couldn't? Rummagin'." 

"You - " Michael wants to scream but settles for huffing and shaking his head instead - Gavin ducks his head with a smile, and Michael activates the saber. 

They approach the door warily, side-by-side, each eyeing the eerie purple around the edges. It's _pulsing_, almost like breathing, and chills go down Michael's spine. He steadfastly ignores the long-darkened patches of blood streaked over the decaying walls, across the floor in disturbing smears. Red lightning cracks over Gavin's fingers, but Michael suspects this time it's not on purpose - he can also feel the strange, unnatural tug in the air, pricking at his skin and his hair, plucking at his clothes. He can only imagine it's even worse for someone actually magical, like Gavin, but Gavin makes no comments on it. 

"D'you think it just pulls?" Michael asks when they stop in front of the door, looking at the two huge metal doorknob rings. 

"I was kinda expecting it would just open itself." 

Michael huffs out a laugh at that and reaches for the handle. 

It opens much more smoothly than it seems it _should_, and the hairs on Michael's arms stand on end as purple washes over them, almost _tangible_ in its power - Gavin stumbles back a step at it, and Michael catches his arm - 

"Welcome, _sahren_," a voice booms - Michael's head snaps up, and the walls pulse _stronger_, and he realises they're in a throne room - a bleak, cold, _black_ throne room, blood-stained and tilted, and there's someone sitting on the throne. 

The figure is covered head-to-toe in black armour, an equally black cloak draped over one shoulder. Michael feels a pull towards him, and Gavin stumbles again, trying to stay upright but it's clearly a struggle. Michael looks between Gavin and the figure. Gavin wheezes for breath, clutching weakly onto Michael's shoulder. 

"What have you done to him?" Michael asks, glaring at the throne. The figure laughs, and a cold breeze sweeps through the room. 

"Nothing," they say. "I'm just _stronger_ than him." 

Gavin collapses to the ground - Michael frantically drops to a knee, tries to support him so he doesn't knock himself out on the stone, and Gavin squeezes his eyes shut. 

"I'll be fine," he promises, pushing at Michael. 

"Hey, I'm not leaving you," Michael says - Gavin smiles faintly in return. 

The figure stands up from the throne. 

"My magic is too strong for mere humans to bear," they call out, slowly descending down the carpeted steps. There's still a long stretch of flat carpet before they reach Michael, but there's nowhere for him to run - climb back up? Dig out? - especially if Gavin's _this _feeble, but he can't leave the guy behind. 

"Even for wizards like your friend," they continue. 

"But I'm not affected," Michael murmurs to himself. Wonders if he could fake it long enough to make it an advantage, even though there's only a few metres left between him and the figure, even though his free hand is gripping his saber tight enough to hurt - 

"Sahren," Gavin whispers, clasping at Michael's sleeve. He coughs. "Means...royal son." 

"What?" Michael asks. The footsteps stop. 

"I've been waiting for you, Muuksah," the figure says, reaching a hand down to Michael. 

The name makes Michael's blood boil. 

He looks at the hand, follows the armoured arm up to shoulder, up to - 

The helmet is _grinning_. 

Michael takes the hand. It's cold, like _ice_, freezing Michael right down to his bones, and the figure's smile gentles for just a moment, satisfied - 

Michael swings his saber with a yell, smashing the blade right against the figure's side - it glides right through their body like _shadow_, and the figure floats backwards, and with all the dawning horror of realisation, Michael understands that the figure, creature, _whatever_ it is, isn't corporeal. It's all shadow. 

And just like that, the floating shadow of torso reforms into armour again, at least for appearance. 

"You can have this, too," the creature promises. "Let me teach you." 

"Teach me what? How to be a fucking shadow? Fuck that." 

"I can show you how to use your magic." 

Michael adjusts his grip on the saber and thrusts it at the creature - it just floats away again, armour morphing into shadow and back. The purple walls glow bright, _bright_ \- Michael shuts his eyes at the sudden, splitting pain in his head and groans through gritted teeth, struggling not to crumble - the light fades again, and he opens his eyes, his movements sluggish for a moment. 

"I don't _have_ magic," he says. 

"How do you think you found me?" 

"I'm not magic," Michael insists. The closer the creature gets to him, the stronger he can feel the dark magic. It radiates off of them in pin-prick waves, like static washing over his skin and his bones and his blood, unpleasant and evil. 

"This room would kill any normal mortal," the shadow hisses. "And yet, you stand." 

"Because you're fucking weak," Michael spits. _Dumbass move, Jones_, he thinks quietly. 

"It's in your _blood_. By _birth_, Muuksah." 

"Don't _call_ me that!" Michael stabs uselessly at the shadow. 

"Take out your map," the creature smiles, "Why do you think you're the only one who can read it?" 

"Shut _up_!" Michael slashes again, and the creature dodges effortlessly, its cloak swirling around Michael. The magic pushes insistently at his mind, at his strength, and he glances back at Gavin. He's still breathing. 

"You have magic in you, sahren." _Royal son_. _Royal_ \- 

"What are you?" Michael asks, panting, struggling against the magic. The figure grins. 

"Your father," it answers. "The King." 


	4. Chapter 4

"You're lying," Michael spits. A sinking feeling in his chest tells him otherwise. 

"And you, Muuksah, are my heir. The Prince." 

"I am _not_ \- " 

"He knew," the King adds, gesturing to Gavin. "He could tell. And he still let you do this." 

"I came here for money," Michael says. "Not for - power or whatever fucking magic you have." 

"Oh, there is treasure plenty," the King promises. "You only need to pledge." He waves his hand, and piles of gold glitter behind the throne - but there's blood pooled under them, and rotting skeletons hanging from the beams above, and in flashes, Michael sees shipwrecks surrounded by shadows, sees kingdoms descended upon and stripped of all but bone, sees bloodshed and tyranny and darkness - 

With a flick of the King's wrist, the gold disappears, and so do the visions. Michael sways on his feet, but only for a moment. 

"I don't want your blood money," he growls, and swings his blade once more. 

This time, the King fights back. It's an unfair fight, a saber against shadow, but Michael tries his best. He thinks he catches glimpses of purple within the King, a jagged shard of what was maybe once his heart, but every move he makes is bested by shadow rippling through his body, by the staticky magic prickling over his skin, and where he exhausts himself, the King seems to be only getting stronger, cackling when Michael misses, laughing cruelly in his ear when another rush of shadow leaves Michael gasping for breath. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Gavin moving, ever so slightly, reaching out with a hand to drag himself towards the door. 

Michael immediately spins around to keep the King's focus on him, slashing and dodging and yelling as he tries to hit that purple shard - his blade glances off of it once, and the King growls ferociously, swirling in a tornado around him while Michael tries for breath, closing his eyes to try and _think_ the dark magic away. If he's supposedly magical, he should be able to beat magic, right? He tries to ground himself, tries to focus on defeating shadow - light, he needs light, can he even conjure light - 

The King squeezes tighter, tighter, as if he's suffocating Michael, and Michael starts hacking and stabbing with no care where he hits, just aiming to distract the King long enough to let up on the magic creeping up his spine, paralysing his fingers when he's still for too long, and even though his head is spinning from exhaustion and his lungs burn with his panting, he's still on his feet, and that's all he fucking needs to be. Just need to survive. To stay on his feet. But his swings are getting slow, and his dodging slower, his defence careless, and the purple shard eludes him with every shift and ripple of shadow - 

Michael collapses to the ground dizzy, the saber rolling out of his hand as his back hits the ground. The tornado stops. He still can't breathe easily, his mind full of foggy static. 

A moment later, footsteps approach him. The King bends down to pick up the saber. 

"Thank you for returning this to me, by the way," he says, and places the tip of the blade to Michael's throat. 

"One last chance," the King says, cocking his head. "Join me." 

"Fuck...you," Michael wheezes, struggling to keep his eyes open. The King's helmeted mouth curls in a disgusted snarl, and he raises the blade - 

"Oi, watch out, Michael!" Gavin calls, and an orb bolt of red lightning shoots across the room, right into the King's chest. The saber goes flying, and the foggy static lifts for a moment while the King is distracted, and Michael can _breathe_ again, sucks in desperate breath after desperate breath - 

The King rises from the ground again, flickering black and purple and _angry_. Michael pushes himself up to see Gavin standing just outside the threshold of the room, exhausted and weary, but on his feet. Red crackles over his hands. 

"Use your magic, boi!" Gavin calls. Michael shakes his head. 

"I can't!" he shouts, glancing nervously at the King. "I don't know how!" 

The King roars. 

"Hey, sod off!" Gavin replies, tossing something at him - glass shatters on the ground below the King, and whatever it was seems to disorient the King for a few precious seconds, turning him in circles around himself. Michael hurriedly gets up and brushes off his clothes, retreating back to the door. 

"You got any more of those?" He asks Gavin, glancing over his shoulder at him. 

"Only one," Gavin replies, pressing his dagger into Michael's hand. "Use your magic." 

"How? I thought - I thought dark magic was with blood, I - I don't - " 

"There's no such thing as light and dark magic, not technically," Gavin says. The King turns to glare at them, shadow crackling threateningly. "There's just _magic_. What matters is how you tap into it." 

"So, what, either bloodshed or?" 

"Or just bloody thinking 'bout it," Gavin responds, pushing him back into the room. "Now go, before he damn kills _both_ of us." 

"Helpful," Michael mutters to himself, but hefts the dagger in his hand anyway. "Just _think_ about it." 

Now that his mind's clearer, Michael tries to cultivate - he doesn't even know what, a fucking magic aura? - while he approaches the King, focusing on the memory of Gavin's red lightning bolts and not on the bloodstains littering the throne room. Light. He needs light. Logically, light gets rid of shadow, right? 

The King outstretches a hand, and the saber flies to him. And when he activates it, the purple matches the walls. 

Michael was really hoping the purple was just a coincidence. 

"Never mind," the King laughs. "I have other sons to take your place." 

"And none will," Michael replies, thinking of sunshine and fire and lightning. 

"Oh, they'll come," the King grins. "They'll hear the call, just like you did." 

"Not when you're dead," Michael spits, coming to a stop in front of the King. He imagines lightning sparks from the clouds of shadow, the glint of sunshine on glass, reflections on water, the hot desert just above them, and when he lunges for the King, one hand ripping through shadow, the King makes a noise akin to _pained_. 

A small victory, but an important one. Michael shouts with the force of it as he swipes for the King, his hand falling through shadow and his skin burning with acute, bone-wrenching pain when the King hits him back, but this time, Michael pushes the static _back_. He's not strong enough to do anything more, but he knows that if he just keeps his head clear and his arms up, he can do this. He can do this. 

The King spits and snarls and shape shifts a hundred times, from tsunami to waterfall, from wolf to hawk, and Michael stands his ground, yelling with every hit and ripping through the shadow that touches him like old moss, clawing through the King's faces and the King's forces, dodging only the saber when it swings over his head or at his legs, although with much less finesse than Michael's usual opponents. _Easy_. The walls glow harsh purple, the stone cracks and creaks, and Michael focuses on fire and flame, on being light enough and ferocious enough to tear through the shadow and banish it. 

This time when the King brandishes the saber, Michael instinctively goes to grab the wrist lifting it - and to his shock, the shadow is solid under his hand. The King grunts, and Michael violently wrenches his arm back, forcing the saber to clatter to the ground and deactivate. He kicks it away before any of the King's hands can retrieve it, and the King roars in a language far older than the castle itself, attacking Michael harder, faster, wrapping around him in a fierce whirl, trying to suffocate him again, and Michael can feel the dark, pulsing static leaking into cracks of himself, insidious and dark. 

Except this time he can breathe, even surrounded by the storm, and he's still on his feet, and it keeps him brave even though he has no idea how this ends. The King screams and shouts and yells and overwhelms, his shadow presses up to Michael's nose and mouth and tries to force its way down his throat, and Michael tears through it, fire and flame and the King's destruction, ripping the hands off his nose and his neck and the strands clinging to his dagger - and there, somewhere in the wild swirl, the purple shard glints at him again, and Michael lunges for it - 

It's solid in his hand, like a piece of broken glass, and with no hesitation and a triumphant shout, he stabs it with Gavin's dagger. 

The King _screeches_, and Michael keeps stabbing until the shard cracks in his palm and the shadow dissipates around him, the King's howling and screaming fading with him. 

Something strong and dark _tugs_ at Michael, brings abrupt tears to his eyes, a sudden, violent pull - and he breathes in deep, and swallows it down, and pushes out the last vestiges of the King from his mind. 

When he opens his eyes - when had he closed them? - there's nothing in the throne room except him and the shattered glass on the floor. The walls are dark. The room is silent. 

The room is still light enough to see - from what source, Michael doesn't know, but it reminds him of sunshine, soft and white. Gavin's hand lands on his shoulder a moment later, startling him, and after Gavin laughs about that, Michael smacks his elbow. Gavin seems back to normal now, his movements effortless and carefree, and the little squeeze he gives Michael's shoulder seems to say _I'm fine, boi_. 

Michael bends down to pick up the saber, turning the hilt in his hand. He presses the button to activate it. 

A red blade _schwings_ out. Michael blinks. Gavin grins. 

"Why did it change?" Michael asks, although he feels he knows the answer. Gavin lifts his hand hand and crackles matching red lightning over his knuckles. 

"Means you tapped into your magic the right way. Now c'mon, let's get out of here." 


	5. Chapter 5

After a gruelling - and mostly silent - climb back up to the roof of the palace, they take a break, sitting down for some of the water and bread in Gavin's bag while they consider the sand above them. 

"Shouldn't the sand have collapsed as well?" Michael asks. 

"Nah, the magic hasn't fully gone yet," Gavin replies around his mouthful. 

The elephant in the room grows a little bit more with all the questions Michael hasn't asked and all the answers Gavin hasn't volunteered. 

"How do we get out, then?" 

"Could try digging," Gavin offers. 

"What about your - lightning glass thing?" 

"What, shoot a hole through the sand?" Gavin laughs, reaching into his bag to pull out a glass orb, red lightning crackling inside it. "Worth a try, I s'ppose. Only got one left, though." 

"Why didn't you bring more, you dumbass," Michael mutters as he takes the orb, weighing it in his palm. 

"They're for emergencies," Gavin says. "And they're expensive." 

"You _bought_ these?" 

"Sort of," Gavin admits, grinning. "Got 'em off a friend - you'd like her." 

"Huh," Michael muses, rolling the orb between his hands. 

Silence settles between them once more. 

"Hey Gav," Michael says, staring at the orb. 

"Yeah?" 

"Was the King...telling the truth? Did you know I was...the prince of darkness or whatever the fuck." 

Gavin's quiet for a moment. 

"Kinda," he says. Michael tenses. 

"I thought you knew, too," Gavin continues. "When you corrected me on your name - " 

"My parents always told me that's how they got me," Michael answers. "A group of scavengers left me by the town well, as a baby, had my name on a piece of parchment. They just figured it was a cruel joke from the scavengers, name a baby after an old-ass stupid legend, so they gave me a better name." 

Michael pauses. 

"But you knew?" He asks again, looking up at Gavin. 

"I didn't know you were _the _prince," Gavin says. "I could tell you had birthright magic in you, but you clearly didn't know, so I didn't push it. And names are just...well, I know people's names from a glance, sort of thing. I was surprised to learn yours." 

"Muuksah?" Michael asks, hating the taste of it. Gavin nods. 

"Means prince. Heir. More personalised, though, _Muuk_ is a name. The _sah_ means royalty." 

"And you didn't say anything?" 

"Well, I thought we were just lookin' for treasure," Gavin replies, shrugging. A lopsided smile lifts half of his mouth. "Didn't think we'd actually find the damn palace. It's been lost for centuries." 

Michael hums in thought. Gavin shifts next to him. 

"Did you...want me to tell you?" Gavin asks, glancing over. Michael blinks, taken aback at the sudden nervousness in Gavin's voice. 

"What?" 

"I dunno, are you angry I didn't? Because it's not every day you meet someone else magical, and you didn't seem to know anything, and - " 

"Gavin, hey, _hey_," Michael says, lightly thwacking Gavin's leg. "I'm not mad at you, dipshit. We only just met." 

Gavin's shoulders shake with a little relieved laugh, and Michael chuckles with him, playfully knocks their shoulders together. 

"So, what do you think?" He asks, holding up the orb. "Straight up?" 

Gavin looks up at the sand ceiling, tilts his head. 

"What if you like, toss it up there," he says, pointing up. 

"Up there? Gav, we need to get to the surface, not deeper into the fucking sand." 

"Nah but like, curve it. Go out diagonal." 

"_Diagonal_?" 

"More fun, innit?" But Gavin's grinning with that knowing glint in his eye, the one that tells Michael there's more magic than it seems to this idea, so Michael stands up to indulge him. 

\-- 

"So remind me. Diagonal lightning, diagonal hole, how the _fuck_ did you _forget_ to mention that the lightning goes in _both directions_?" Michael shrieks, clinging onto the rope for dear fucking life as the castle collapses beneath them, crumbling on itself with a thunderous crack of stone and wood. 

"Because it _doesn't_!" Gavin protests from above Michael, slowly shimmying up the rope - just before the castle came down, Gavin managed to fish out a grappling hook from his bag and toss it into the gaping sand hole above them, and now that's where they're swinging, with certain doom below them. Michael scowls down at the shuddering castle and back up at Gavin. 

"Well it definitely fucking _did_!" 

"I guess - " Gavin breaks off to grasp at the edge of the sand, pulling himself in with an effort. "I guess you didn't absorb it." 

"Absorb it?" Michael asks, his shins burning with rope friction as he climbs up, towards Gavin's outstretched hand. "Why the fuck would I absorb it?" 

"Because that's what most wizards do," Gavin deadpans, laughing at Michael's fond eye roll. Michael reaches up for Gavin's hand and Gavin hauls him in with a grunt, tugging them both safely back from the edge. 

"When you toss it," Gavin pants, not letting go of Michael's wrist. "There's the forward bolt, and a blowback bolt, and usually the blowback gets absorbed by the person. I guess because you're not in touch with your magic, your magic didn't absorb it for you, it just shot beside you." 

"And exploded the fucking castle." 

"Better than striking you, yeah?" 

"...I guess," Michael begrudgingly agrees. He still hasn't let go of Gavin's hand. "So what, we're crawling now?" 

"S'ppose so," Gavin says, arching his neck to look up the hole. "Good thing it's diagonal, innit? Otherwise we'd be falling out." 

"Dumbass." 

"Oi, _how_ am I a dumbass?" Gavin asks with a laugh, scooting up the hole a bit while Michael finally disentangles himself enough to grab Gavin's grappling hook from behind, shoving the mess of metal and rope back into Gavin's arms. The hole isn't big enough to stand in, but there's just enough room for them to crawl on all fours, whenever Gavin eventually twists around onto his front. 

"You just are," Michael replies with a sunny grin, and Gavin kicks him in the ribs. 

Thankfully, the magic sand holds up for most of the crawl, although Michael still glances nervously above him, waiting for it to give up and fall and suffocate them both, or for the coarse sand underneath to give way and make him plummet to his doom - but it doesn't, and all Michael has to worry about is Gavin accidentally kicking him in the face. Which he does, once or twice, until Michael threatens to shove his saber up his ass the next time, and Gavin's laughter sounds muffled in the sand chamber around them. 

Eventually, they reach the end of where the bolt opened up the sand, and Gavin shuffles onto his back so he can rummage through his bag. 

"Are we digging?" Michael sighs, holding out a hand for the shovel Gavin procures. 

"Unless you got a better plan," Gavin replies, handing over the water flask as well. 

Michael doesn't. 

\-- 

Michael hates sand. He hates it. He's never going to the fucking desert again. Not even a beach. He hates the sand and he hates digging into it and he hates the rasp of it against his bare hand and he hates the taste of it in his mouth and he _really fucking hates sand_. 

"Are we close to the surface?" He asks on a break - it's hard to dig fast, cramped in the tunnel together, so they take turns chipping away at the sand ahead of them, letting it slide down the chute behind them and into the abyss. They've gotten two metres or so out, and Michael's arms are burning with exertion and there's sweat soaking his collar. Gavin stabs at the sand again, the scratch-scratch of his scraping just _grating_ on Michael's ears. 

"Actually, yeah," Gavin says, sounding surprised. Michael rolls onto his front to look over Gavin - and sees more sand. 

But not just _any_ sand, it's _falling_ sand, which means they've broken past the magic barrier, and Michael's never been more happy to feel sand whipping at his face than when it's tumbling down outside their hole, but not filling it, thanks to the sideways angle they're at. Gavin pushes at it with the shovel and Michael sticks close, ducking his head to stop the sand from flooding his lungs as they fight their way out past the little waterfall of it. 

Gavin escapes first, immediately rolling away from the hole and coughing, and Michael a second later, gasping at the sweet, _sweet_ fresh air suddenly all around them, flopping onto his back to appreciate the breeze washing over him, cooling the sweat on his forehead and his neck. He looks over at the hole to find sand already settled in front of it again, hiding it from the world, and Michael silently thanks Gavin's magical intuition for aiming them to escape out the side of a dune - probably so when they got past the barrier, the sand wouldn't choke them out right there and then. 

He decides he might thank Gavin for that particular cleverness later, but right now he's content to just enjoy the much gentler heat of the desert at dusk, stars already popping in the sky above them. 

"Right then," Gavin pants. "How about this getting home business then?" 


End file.
